Songs of Three CenturiesJohn Greenleaf Whittier J.R. Osgood, 1875 - 352 страница |
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Страница iii
... keep their unapproachable position , " souls like stars that dwell apart , ” there can be little doubt that the critical essayist of the twentieth century will make a large advance upon the present estimate , not only of Cowper and ...
... keep their unapproachable position , " souls like stars that dwell apart , ” there can be little doubt that the critical essayist of the twentieth century will make a large advance upon the present estimate , not only of Cowper and ...
Страница viii
... KEEP A TRUE LENT . VIRTUE THE FLOWER THE BIRD THEY ARE ALL GONE George Herbert 66 66 31 " 6 66 31 31 66 66 31 66 32 Henry Vaughan 32 66 66 33 FOR ONE THAT HEARS HIMSELF MUCH PRAISED George Wither 33 20 20 20 • 21 22 24 24 25 William ...
... KEEP A TRUE LENT . VIRTUE THE FLOWER THE BIRD THEY ARE ALL GONE George Herbert 66 66 31 " 6 66 31 31 66 66 31 66 32 Henry Vaughan 32 66 66 33 FOR ONE THAT HEARS HIMSELF MUCH PRAISED George Wither 33 20 20 20 • 21 22 24 24 25 William ...
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... keep a True Lent 31 5383 Listening for God HEYWOOD , THOMAS . GARRISON , WILLIAM LLOYD . Good - Morrow . Sonnet 168 Search after God . 235 26 26 GAY , JOHN HOGG , JAMES . The Painter who pleased Nobody and Rapture of Kilmeny , The 121 ...
... keep a True Lent 31 5383 Listening for God HEYWOOD , THOMAS . GARRISON , WILLIAM LLOYD . Good - Morrow . Sonnet 168 Search after God . 235 26 26 GAY , JOHN HOGG , JAMES . The Painter who pleased Nobody and Rapture of Kilmeny , The 121 ...
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... keeps her course aright ; Ne ought for tempest doth from it depart , Ne ought for fairer weather's false de- light . Such self - assurance need not fear the spite Of LAMENT FOR ASTROPHEL (SIR PHILIP SIDNEY) ANGELIC MINISTRY THE TRUE WOMAN.
... keeps her course aright ; Ne ought for tempest doth from it depart , Ne ought for fairer weather's false de- light . Such self - assurance need not fear the spite Of LAMENT FOR ASTROPHEL (SIR PHILIP SIDNEY) ANGELIC MINISTRY THE TRUE WOMAN.
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... keep the weather from low houses , But cannot shield the tempest from them- selves . I love to dwell betwixt the hills and dales , Neither to be so great as to be envied , Nor yet so poor the world should pity me . WILLIAM DRUMMOND ...
... keep the weather from low houses , But cannot shield the tempest from them- selves . I love to dwell betwixt the hills and dales , Neither to be so great as to be envied , Nor yet so poor the world should pity me . WILLIAM DRUMMOND ...
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angels beauty BEGONE DULL CARE bells beneath bird blessed bliss bonnie Braes breast breath bright busk calm Christabel clouds dark dead dear death deep doth dream earth EDMUND SPENSER Edom eternal eyes face fair fear flowers frae Glenlogie glory golden grace grave green Grongar Hill hand hast hath hear heard heart heaven hill holy hour Hymn Inchcape Rock JOHN BYROM Kilmeny kiss lady land lassie light live Lochaber lonely look Lord maun mind morning mourn ne'er never night o'er praise rest rose round Saint Agnes SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE scorn shade shine shore sigh sing sleep smile soft song sorrow soul sound spirit spring stars sweet tears tell thee thine thou art thought tree unto vale voice wandering waves weary weel ween weep wild WILLIAM SHENSTONE wind wings Yarrow
Популарни одломци
Страница 125 - But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride; And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. And there lay the rider, distorted and pale, With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail ; And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.
Страница 66 - Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, And e'en his failings leaned to virtue's side; But in his duty prompt at every call, He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all: And, as a bird each fond endearment tries, To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies, He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way.
Страница 209 - Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! — For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.
Страница 30 - GOING TO THE WARS Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind That from the nunnery Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind, To war and arms I fly. True, a new mistress now I chase, The first foe in the field; And with a stronger faith embrace A sword, a horse, a shield. Yet this inconstancy is such As you too shall adore; I could not love thee, dear, so much, Loved I not honour more.
Страница 125 - For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed; And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still!
Страница 160 - With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat in unwomanly rags Plying her needle and thread — Stitch ! stitch ! stitch ! In poverty, hunger and dirt, And still with a voice of dolorous pitch, Would that its tone could reach the rich ! She sang this "Song of the Shirt.
Страница 223 - Year after year beheld the silent toil That spread his lustrous coil; Still, as the spiral grew, He left the past year's dwelling for the new, Stole with soft step its shining archway through, Built up its idle door, Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee, Child of the wandering sea,
Страница 37 - The oracles are dumb, No voice or hideous hum Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving. Apollo from his shrine Can no more divine, With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving. No nightly trance or breathed spell Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.
Страница 97 - No more shall grief of mine the season wrong; I hear the Echoes through the mountains throng, The Winds come to me from the fields of sleep, And all the earth is gay...
Страница 223 - Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee, Child of the wandering sea, Cast from her lap, forlorn! From thy dead lips a clearer note is born Than ever Triton blew from wreathed horn!